"My love," he whispered, kissing her cheek.
"Germain," breathed she slowly, her fair breast heaving, and suddenly threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears. Sweet, sweet, sweet, were the moments of their supreme bliss.
The House of the Golden Dog
From the model by Thomas O'Leary in McGill University.
[CHAPTER XXI]
THE SHADOW OF THE GOLDEN DOG
Two old marquises sat together in a parlour in Paris.
"Bring us the best wine in the house," exclaimed one of them, a bronzed and dried soldier in a maroon coat, waving his hand to his lackey, who responded and disappeared.
"Nothing," continued the soldier, turning to his friend, "could be too good for my schoolmate Lotbinière. Here are two chairs worthy of us, generals among this spindle-shanked regiment. Sit down in that one while I draw up here opposite. Throw off the wigs; there. We shall see now how much of each other remains after our long parting. In India I never wore a wig except to receive the Maharajah."
"Excellent, Pierre! There goes mine. Let us sit back and talk ourselves into the good old days when you and I were youngsters."